As Bal watched the young man leave his house without looking back, a trace of confusion rose in his heart. Why had there not even been any haggling?
Over the past few years, quite a few people from Rhovanion had brought him messages. Though they, too, had shown a certain disgust, this was the first time Bal had seen anyone leave so decisively.
He cautiously examined the emblem on the letter once more. It depicted a knight charging across the grass on a fine horse, lance leveled. Yes, Bal knew it well. This was not the first time he had seen it.
Few people were willing to pay the Dwarves a fortune for such an exquisitely crafted seal, and the Dwarves would not casually sell the same thing to a second person, either.
Once he was certain he had not been deceived, Bal's mood gradually brightened. He waved a hand and ordered the men beside him to fetch their best young riders, then sat at the dining table in the hall and poured himself a cup of wine, calculating the enormous deal he was about to make.
Last year, Bal had traded nearly a hundred Northern Men and more than a dozen Easterling youths to Firentis. Those hundred-odd people had earned him a considerable quantity of goods. His superior, Ashur, had been pleased, the tribal chiefs who needed his help had been pleased, and even Bal's own followers had been pleased.
But Bal had not been pleased. He was the sort of man who never knew satisfaction. Otherwise, after Firentis drove him away, he would not have eagerly risked being killed to discuss "trade" again.
And today, the order Bal had received could bring him ten times last year's profit. Though Dwarves were indeed worth more than humans in the